But Dicey, even though she was a girl, had a secret, and, what was stranger yet, she kept it, but in her brave little heart she resolved that if it were possible she would make it serve her friends.
So the next day she went forth in the afternoon carrying her work with her. Henry, who saw her start, little dreaming of the plans in that curly head, called out in a loud, cheerful voice,—
“I wager I know what is in that bag, Dicey. A new frock for dolly, made in the latest mode. But, Dicey, see that it be not of red, since our enemies are far too partial to that colour to suit me.”
“No such foolishness as you think, brother! I am to finish my kerchief which Eliza and I have been sewing on these three or four days. Maybe it will be all done when I come home.”
Dicey hurried on, almost afraid that she would let out the secret if Henry talked much longer about dolls. Dolls, indeed! why, she hadn’t looked at one for years!
Eliza saw her coming and ran to meet her.
“Come within doors,” said Eliza, when their greetings were over, drawing Dicey with her. But this did not suit our little patriot’s plans at all, and holding back, she said,—
“Let’s go and sit in the tree-seat, Eliza. ’Tis so pleasant out of doors to-day, and then you know we can talk over things there.”
“Go you there and I will come when I get my reticule,” answered Eliza, who, like Dicey, was glad to escape from the keen eyes of mother and elder sister, neither of whom had much sympathy for over-long stitches or puckered work.
Dicey did as she was bid, and climbed into the tree-seat where for years the children had been used to play, and, now that they had grown older, to which retreat they took their sewing or a book, though these latter came to hand rarely enough, the Bible and some books of devotion being thought quite enough reading for young people in those days.